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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26950939">I Left You a Note</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/MSSmysterygirl/pseuds/MSSmysterygirl'>MSSmysterygirl</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The 100 (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/F</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 18:15:20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,340</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26950939</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/MSSmysterygirl/pseuds/MSSmysterygirl</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“I believe in spirits,” Lexa says softly.  “I believe energy can’t be created nor destroyed, like Einstein proved.  So when we die, the energy that makes up our spirits has to go somewhere.  I think it can stick around.”</p><p>“Ghosts?” Clarke asks.  Somehow they’ve never had this particular conversation in spite of being married for a decade.</p><p>Lexa shrugs her right shoulder.  “I guess so.  More like… an energy.  The things that make us us.”</p><p>“Like our souls?”</p><p>“Yeah, like that.”  Lexa’s right arm tightens around Clarke’s shoulders and she plants a kiss on Clarke’s forehead.  “My soul will stay with you.  I’ll find a way to show you.”</p><p>For whatever reason, that makes Clarke feel minutely better.  “Promise?”</p><p>“Pinky promise.”</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Clarke Griffin/Lexa</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>93</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>I Left You a Note</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This was a story that quickly burst into my brain and would not go away until it was written.  It is sad.  But it's full of love.</p><p>A big thank you to Underthecovers for everything you do for me! xo</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The first headache hits in May.  It comes out of nowhere — like a bolt of lightning.  One minute they are walking on a park path, drinking coffee from paper cups, admiring the flowers that are starting to bloom.  The next minute, Lexa drops like a stone, her coffee cup falling to the pavement and the contents spilling everywhere.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Lexa! What’s wrong?” Clarke cries, frantic.  She falls to her knees on the ground beside her wife, running her hands over her face, her shoulders, her head.  Lexa lies there, not moving, her eyes squeezed tightly closed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“My head,” she croaks.  “My head. Clarke, help! Make it stop.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But Clarke can’t make it stop.  Eventually, they manage to get Lexa home and after a while the intense, shooting pains in her head dissipate.  Clarke is concerned but Lexa tries to wave her off.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Maybe it was just a one-time thing.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s only when it happens again a week later that Clarke calls her mother, Dr. Abigail Griffin, and tells her what happened.  It’s only then that they get an idea that this might be serious.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>---</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The initial diagnosis is migraines.  Treatable.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But Clarke isn’t happy with that.  Neither is Abby.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But Lexa is nothing if not stubborn and insists she is fine.  She can handle the pain as long as it’s not life-threatening.</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>The third and fourth headaches come in June.  Just like the first few, they come out of nowhere.  Now, however, Lexa seems to be having some trouble regaining full use of her body after each episode.  Her hands tingle and her balance is off.  She gets nauseous.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You need to go to the hospital,” Abby tells her after Lexa vomits for a third time following the latest ‘migraine.’  “This is not normal.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The second diagnosis is not as promising.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Lexa has a brain tumor.  It’s inoperable.  And she has six to nine months to live.</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>In July, they go camping.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Lexa loves the woods.  She always has.  She grew up in a wooded area and spent hours and hours each day playing in the forest as a child.  She and her sister, Anya, would build huts out of branches and rocks, slathering the sides with mud to make them sturdy.  They would sleep in their “Forest Home” many nights in the summer.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I love you,” Clarke tells Lexa as they sit on a log beside a tranquil river.  “I love you more than anything.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Lexa kisses her, then kisses away the tears that are falling from Clarke’s beautiful blue eyes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I love you too,” Lexa says.  “I always have.  And I always will.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Clarke pulls Lexa down right there on the smooth stones beside the river.  They pull their clothes off and breathe each other in.  Clarke’s hands are all over Lexa’s body; her breasts, her hips, her backside.  Clarke’s mouth finds its way to Lexa’s clit and she brings her to orgasm again and again, in the way that she has learned Lexa likes over the years.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Lexa flips them over and presses Clarke into the ground.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I love you, I love you,” she murmurs against every inch of Clarke’s skin.  She drives her fingers into her, over and over, slow and sweet, drawing out arcs of pleasure.  She loses count after Clarke’s fifth orgasm.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That night, in their tent, they have a repeat performance. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And when Clarke is finally asleep, sated and spent, Lexa curls herself protectively around her wife and at last allows herself to cry.</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>In August, they have a party.  A big, backyard barbecue with a bonfire and lots of alcohol. All their friends come, just like the good old days.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Raven Reyes, Clarke’s college roommate.  Octavia and Bellamy Blake, Clarke’s childhood neighbors and best friends.  John Murphy (whom everyone just calls ‘Murphy’), Clarke’s former-co-worker-turned-friend and his wife Emori.  Monty and Harper Green, their next-door neighbors. Maya Vie, another childhood friend of Clarke’s, comes with her boyfriend Jasper.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Lexa’s sister Anya comes, and brings her roommate, Luna.  (Lexa and Clarke share a knowing smile when Luna and Raven disappear together after a while.)  Gaia, Lexa’s high school friend and her husband.  Titus and his husband Gustus, who used to dog-sit for Lexa when she went out of town.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Lexa is standing, staring into the fire pit, watching the flames jump skyward.  Clarke comes up behind her, slips her arms around Lexa’s waist and rests her cheek against Lexa’s upper back.  She’s not quite tall enough to put her chin on Lexa’s shoulder.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Are you okay?” Clarke asks. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Lexa nods, but remains quiet.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What are you thinking about?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>After a moment of silence, Lexa turns and looks around at their friends, then at Clarke.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I was just thinking,” she says softly, “about how glad I am that you have all these people who love you, too.  They can take care of you when I’m gone.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Clarke’s lower lip trembles.  “They don’t love me like you do.  No one ever will.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No,” Lexa agrees.  “But I know they will keep you safe.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don’t want them,” Clarke whispers, the tears falling in earnest now.  “I want </span>
  <em>
    <span>you.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You have me,” Lexa says, placing Clarke’s hand over her heart.  “You had me from the moment I saw you.  And you will always have me.  I will always be with you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>In September, the seizures start.  They are painful for Lexa and terrifying for Clarke.  She can’t do anything to help Lexa except hold her and make sure she doesn’t hit her head on anything. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>After the first one, Lexa regains consciousness crying.  She rarely cries, but now she is sobbing.  She clings to Clarke, burying her face in her neck.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Are you hurting?” Clarke asks, rubbing Lexa’s back.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Lexa nods, gasping for air, sobs wracking her body.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What hurts?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Everything!” Lexa wails.  “I just want it to stop.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m so sorry,” Clarke whispers, crying softly.  “I’m so sorry, my love.”</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>In October, they go to a pumpkin patch with Anya, Luna and Raven, the latter two having finally declared their mutual attraction and begun dating.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I feel like the literal fifth wheel,” Anya complains as she watches the two couples snuggle up together on a hayride.  “You guys are all so gross.”  There’s a sparkle in her eyes despite her words.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So gross, but you love us,” Lexa sing-songs, and Anya laughs in agreement.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Lexa is feeling good.  She hasn’t had a seizure in over two weeks and her balance is a little better.  Clarke still holds her hand everywhere they go (not that she minds at all) but it’s less of a necessity.  Lexa isn’t sure if its the new drug trial she’s on or if she’s still reaping the benefits of the last-ditch-effort radiation they gave her in September when the seizures first started.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Either way, she’s grateful.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She wants to make memories — for Clarke, since she’ll be the only one around to remember them.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Later, they get themselves hopelessly lost in the corn maze.  (Anya opted not to participate — she has a fear of spiders and they tend to hang out in the corn.)  Raven and Luna went a different way at a fork in the path, leaving Clarke and Lexa alone.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Lexa pulls Clarke off the path and into the corn.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Lex!” Clarke giggles, but doesn’t fight her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When they are completely obscured from the view of anyone on the path, Lexa winds her fingers into Clarke’s hair and presses their lips together.  The kiss is soft, gentle and full of emotion.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Lexa’s hands slip down to Clarke’s neck, her thumbs tracing along the edge of her jawline.  Their lips slide together, tongues darting out to taste one another.  Clarke gasps against Lexa’s mouth when she feels one of Lexa’s hands slide down her body and deftly pop open the button on her jeans.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Clarke doesn’t argue.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>If Lexa wants to fuck her in a corn field then that is what will happen.  How can Clarke say no to her?  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And anyway, it’s not like Clarke </span>
  <em>
    <span>really</span>
  </em>
  <span> minds.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You have to be quiet, love,” Lexa whispers.  “There are people everywhere.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Clarke nods, biting her lip as she feels Lexa’s fingers start to work their magic.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A minute passes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Clarke grips Lexa’s shoulders, her hips pushing forward, chasing the overwhelming pleasure.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Baby… yes…” Clarke whimpers.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Lexa covers Clarke’s mouth with her own, swallowing her moans and sighs as she comes.  She holds her hand still, not releasing the pressure until Clarke’s body has stopped shivering against her.  Then she pulls her hand out and re-buttons Clarke’s jeans.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They giggle like teenagers as they make their way back out to the path.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It takes them another hour to get out of the corn maze; Clarke had to return the favor.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What took you guys so long?” Raven says, laughing, when they finally rejoin their friends.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We got lost!” Lexa says, her eyebrows raised in feigned innocence. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Uh-huh,” Anya drawls.  “Sure you did.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>---</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What’s yours going to be?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s the day before Halloween and they are on the kitchen floor, newspapers spread out, pumpkin guts everywhere.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’ll see,” Clarke taunts.  She’s using one of those tiny little saw-like tools to carve something into the front of her pumpkin.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Lexa goes back to work on her own pumpkin.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ta-da!” Clarke turns her pumpkin around after a few minutes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Lexa bursts out laughing.  “You didn’t.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I did.” Clarke’s smile is devilish.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>On her pumpkin is carved a half-husked ear of corn.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What?” Clarke says, shrugging.  “It’s my favorite memory from the pumpkin patch, which is where I got this pumpkin from.  It makes total sense.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Lexa just shakes her head, still chuckling.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Lemme see yours,” Clarke says, trying to get to Lexa’s pumpkin.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No! It’s not done!” Lexa shrieks, pulling the pumpkin out of Clarke’s reach.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They wrestle for the pumpkin for a moment before Lexa finally gives in.  It’s not like she can ever say ‘no’ to Clarke anyway.  She turns the pumpkin to face Clarke.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, Lex…” Clarke whispers, her blue eyes instantly filling with tears.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>On Lexa’s pumpkin there is an infinity symbol; it looks like an ‘8’ on its side.  In one of the ‘circles’ of the ‘8’ there is a C.  In the other, there is an L.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Clarke obviously understands the meaning.  And suddenly, Clarke finds herself in Lexa’s arms, bawling into her shoulder.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Please don’t leave me,” she sobs, her whole body trembling.  “Please. I need you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>In November, they have a small Thanksgiving family gathering.  Clarke’s mom, Abby, is there, and Aunt Charmaine (her dad’s older sister) and cousin Hope.  Anya comes, along with their step-brother, Lincoln.  He hasn’t been around because he is in the military and was stationed overseas.  Lexa and Anya’s cousin, Niylah, comes from halfway across the country.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Lexa’s seizures have returned, along with debilitating headaches.  She has lost almost all control of the left side of her body and can no longer walk without assistance.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She still smiles though, and it melts Clarke’s heart.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Lexa is so strong.  So stoic.  So tough.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s not fair.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>No one says it in so many words, but there seems to be an understanding that this may be the last time some of them will see Lexa.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When everyone leaves, Clarke lights a fire in the fireplace and they lie on the floor in front of it, snuggled up together in a nest of blankets.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What do you think happens after we die?” Lexa asks.  Her voice still sounds the same, even though her body is giving out.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Clarke pulls Lexa closer, slinging a leg over her waist.  She shakes her head.  “I don’t know.  My dad used to say, ‘well, you just kinda.. lay there.’  That always scared the crap out of me as a kid.  I wanted to believe in heaven.  I wanted some kind of reassurance, but that’s what he gave me.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Lexa laughs softly.  “Sounds like your dad.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You never met him,” Clarke smirks.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You talk about him enough; I feel like I have.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They are both quiet for a few minutes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I believe in spirits,” Lexa says softly.  “I believe energy can’t be created nor destroyed, like Einstein proved.  So when we die, the energy that makes up our spirits has to go somewhere.  I think it can stick around.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ghosts?” Clarke asks.  Somehow they’ve never had this particular conversation in spite of being married for a decade.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Lexa shrugs her right shoulder.  “I guess so.  More like… an energy.  The things that make us </span>
  <em>
    <span>us.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Like our souls?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, like that.”  Lexa’s right arm tightens around Clarke’s shoulders and she plants a kiss on Clarke’s forehead.  “My soul will stay with you.  I’ll find a way to show you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>For whatever reason, that makes Clarke feel minutely better.  “Promise?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Pinky promise.”</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>In December, Clarke knows it won’t be long.  She can’t bring herself to say the words out loud but she knows it - Lexa is dying.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>In reality, she’s been dying since the moment she was born.  They all have.  But most of them get to live longer, first.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What are you getting Lexa for Christmas?” Anya asks Clarke one day when she drops by to see Lexa.  Anya’s eyes are filled with sadness at the sight of her baby sister, but she keeps her tone and conversations upbeat.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Clarke understands the unspoken question behind Anya’s words.  She isn’t really asking what Clarke is going to get Lexa for Christmas; she’s asking if Clarke thinks Lexa will still be </span>
  <em>
    <span>alive</span>
  </em>
  <span> at Christmas.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I haven’t quite decided,” Clarke answers, and  the true meaning behind her words is not lost on Anya.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Anya doesn’t say anything in response - just nods and gives Clarke a hug.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>In spite of Anya’s efforts, Clarke can see the tears spill down her cheeks as she turns to leave.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When Clarke returns to Lexa’s bedside, she finds Lexa waking up.  Most of her days are spent sleeping now, and when she does wake up, Lexa is often groggy and disoriented.  She no longer has control over either of her legs or her left arm.  She’s almost unbearably thin.  But she still smiles the same, soft smile when she looks at Clarke.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“C’mere love,” Lexa whispers, holding out her right hand to Clarke.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Clarke takes Lexa’s outstretched hand and smiles sadly when she feels the feeble tug that she knows is Lexa trying to pull her over.  Lexa tugs again and Clarke understands.  Carefully, she climbs into the bed beside Lexa, resting her head on Lexa’s chest, tucking her head just beneath Lexa’s chin and laying her arm across her waist.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I left you a note,” Lexa murmurs against the top of Clarke’s head.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But before Clarke can ask her what she means by that, Lexa is asleep again.</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Lexa’s funeral is three days before Christmas.  Clarke doesn’t remember most of it.  She doesn’t remember much of anything about the week leading up to it, either.  After the point that Lexa died, it’s more like snapshots of memory that aren’t really connected to anything in her mind: Raven appearing at the door and coming in like a whirlwind, doing dishes and vacuuming the rugs.  Anya sitting on the floor in the living room, staring at photos covering the top of the coffee table - photos of Lexa from birth up to recent.  Abby, who had been doing dishes in the kitchen, </span>
  <em>
    <span>literally</span>
  </em>
  <span> dropping everything to turn and catch Clarke before she hit the floor as her body finally gave out from lack of food and proper sleep.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Christmas is a blur.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Five days after the funeral, Clarke finds the first note.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s tucked into the book that Clarke had been reading but had been sitting, untouched, on her bedside table.  Clarke probably wouldn’t have noticed it except that she accidentally knocked the book off and the note fell out.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With shaking hands, she unfolds the small piece of paper.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I love you.  </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I adore you.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I appreciate you.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I miss you.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>∞</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Over the next several weeks, Clarke finds many, many more notes.  They’re everywhere.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tucked in the center of yet-to-be-used toilet paper rolls.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In the glove compartment of her car.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Inside the ice cream container in the freezer (in a plastic bag).</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Clarke dreads the day that she no longer finds notes from Lexa.  Once they’re gone, it’s like </span>
  <em>
    <span>she’s</span>
  </em>
  <span> gone.</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>The next few months pass both slowly and at the speed of light.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Time is funny like that.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The nights are the longest.  Clarke can’t bring herself to sleep in their bed without Lexa, so she sleeps on the couch, usually drugging herself to sleep with Benadryl and watching mindless TV until her body succumbs to sleep.  She never wakes up rested.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But then, she feels like she blinked and it’s springtime again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You need to eat something,” Anya says to Clarke one morning.  Even though Lexa is gone, Anya still comes over several times a week.  Clarke hadn’t expected her not to, but she still sometimes finds herself surprised when she does.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So do you,” Clarke replies, her voice gentle.  She knows Anya means well but neither of them have been taking the best care of themselves since Lexa died.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Anya makes scrambled eggs and Clarke makes toast.  They both pick at their food.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Suddenly, Clarke can’t see her plate anymore - tears are obscuring her vision.  It’s been a while since she’s cried… a week maybe?  She had been feeling so numb.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Clarke?” Anya’s voice sounds far away.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I just miss her so much,” Clarke mumbles, and her tears splash onto her toast.</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>In June, Clarke can’t take it anymore.  She has to get out of the house.  She packs an overnight bag and heads for the coast.  Windows down, she plays the radio as loud as she wants as she drives through the wooded, winding roads.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Suddenly, she makes a sharp right turn onto a gravel side road.  She hadn’t intended to turn here, but it was like her body had other ideas.  She’s drawn to this area and for a second she can’t remember why.  But then she does.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>This is where she and Lexa took their last camping trip together last summer.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Gingerly, Clarke picks her way down the embankment, past the spot where their tent had stood, past the little clearing where they had put their campfire, through the trees toward the river.  The sunlight filters down through the trees and Clarke swears she can almost hear Lexa’s voice echoing through the woods.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The log is still there, of course.  Worn smooth by years of sitting on the bank of the river.  Clarke finds it so unfair that this log is allowed to stay right here on earth and the love of her life was not.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She sits heavily on the log, staring into the water.  She closes her eyes and places her hands on the log on either side of her, tilting her face up to the sky.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I miss you…” she whispers to the sound of the rushing river, the breeze rustling through the treetops, the calling of a bird nearby.  “I miss you.  Please tell me you’re still here with me.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tears leak out of the corners of her eyes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And then her fingertips feel the unevenness of scarred wood.  Without looking down, she traces the grooves.  Her breath catches in her throat.  She’s almost afraid to look; afraid it won’t be what she thinks it is.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But she looks.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And it is.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>An infinity symbol with a C on one side and an L on the other.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I will always be with you.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Clarke smiles through her tears, gets up, and walks back to her car.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Lexa’s body may be gone, but Clarke knows her spirit is still here.  As long as Clarke remembers her, and other people remember her; as long as the things she did still impact people, even indirectly; as long as the places she went bear the scars… she will be here.  Her spirit.  Her energy.  Her memory.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She will always be here.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>After all, she pinky promised.</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
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